Mission: Improbable
by Jennifer Lynn Weston
Summary: Jack, James, and James' new wife Mare are having adventures in the post-Abducted AU. Though not a crossover, any resemblance to 'Mission: Impossible' is deliberate. General audience, generally.
1. Chapter 1

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney_

_xxx_

James was finding the smells of 1873 Bombay almost stupefying in their intensity; an ever-changing olfactory kaleidoscope of floral perfumes, unwashed bodies, henna, burning cow dung, patchouli incense, oil-fried fish, sandalwood, open sewers, and just about every spice known to humankind.

The tropical sunlight was also formidable, but easier to screen out. Norrington adjusted the large beige umbrella to keep them both in the shade, maintaining his firm grip on the thick L-shaped handle, fashionably equipped with a small embedded compass. The passing flow of black-haired citizenry gave them no second glance. After all, there was nothing novel about the spectacle of an apparently well-to-do British merchant taking an afternoon constitutional on the arm of his veiled Indian... concubine. It did grate a bit, to know that's what every viewer was probably assuming. James had been raised to deplore such exploitation of women.

But of course the assumption was false. The sari-clad figure at his side was neither exploited nor a woman.

As he turned them towards the dock area, Norrington gave his companion a glance, squinting against the shouting colors._ / Trust Sparrow to pick the most gaudily-hued fabric available- magenta and purple with gilt trim, no less! /_

Said gaudy fabric was draped to conceal every square inch, excepting the brown feet, winking in copper-studded sandals, and the native-dark eyes. The latter met his merrily, their corners crinkling to denote a hidden grin. "Beautiful day for a stroll, isn't it, darling?" inquired a very false falsetto.

Shifting his own gaze forward, James muttered, "I do hope you're not planning to use that voice when we get there."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart!" Jack snuggled closer to his companion's side, emitting an authentically feminine giggle- rather in excess of what this masquerade required.

"What on earth's gotten into you?"

"You must forgive me, cousin. This particular sort o' garment always conjures up delightful recollections, related to the first occasion I ever wore one."

"I'm not sure I want to know..."

"Not to worry- you'll enjoy this yarn!" Sparrow spoke with that eager tone he employed when itching to relate an exploit. "'Tis how I rescued my _Black Pearl_ from that thieving pestilence Barbossa, fer the second time."

It was a few more minutes' walk to the docks; they might as well pass the time with a story. "Do tell, then."

"This was right after I'd first located an' made use of the Aqua de Vida. Next on my list of priorities was the reclamation of my poor stolen ship. I returned to Tortuga, had a listen around, learned Hector'd recently taken a fine merchant prize an' was plannin' ta visit a pirate-tolerant Guadeloupe port ta spend the swag. I happened ta know he favored a certain establishment there; the 'Cinnamon Rose', which catered to his taste fer wenches on the dusky side..."

"No salacious details, please."

"Suffice ta say, I acquired a swathe like this- a nice bright red 'un- collected Gibbs, an' hired some fast transport to Guadeloupe. Locatin' the _Pearl's _berth there was easy as spottin' a black grouper amongst pompanos. Josh an' I kept a clandestine watch on her 'til evenin', when Barbossa disembarked all tarted up fer some R&R. I sent Gibbs aboard ta locate an' inform ez many of the crew as were likely ta welcome me back- Cotton, Marty, a couple ex-Marines- an' have 'em prepare to get the ship underway. Meantime, I took a short route to the aforementioned 'Rose'. Having gained the Madame's cooperation with a bit of shine across the palm, I ensconced meself in the parlor, all obscured within that rubyesque cloth. When Hector made his predicted appearance, I knew just which wiles ta employ ta catch 'is fancy. The sod always did have a weakness fer body language." Sparrow executed a demonstration shimmy.

"The man actually failed to recognize you?"

"He were a ways into his cups, havin' patronized one o' Guadeloupe's finer taverns on the way theer. The hook was, I offered 'im a substantial discount, on condition we conduct our business aboard that legendary vessel of his- I'd heard such tales about it! The tightfisted lecher were agreeable, so he escorted me back to the docks, and onto the _Pearl's_ gangplank. An' when we were halfway across..." Jack's eye gleam suggested an authentic recollection, "... I body-slammed that mendacious cur into the drink!"

"You drowned him?"

"Oh no; I knew the rotter could swim. His most-recent mutiny hadn't involved leavin' me in life-threatening circumstances, so 'twould've been a tad disproportionate ta do 'im in. Anyways, when he broke the surface the look on his face was worth the restraint!

"I was already out of that red weed, wavin' it about to underscore my declaration. The one-an'-only rightful Captain of the _Black Pearl_ had returned to claim his own, as he always would, no matter how many times she were unrighteously snatched from his possession. So Barbossa had best find hisself another vessel an' forget he'd ever heard of this one!"

James had no difficulty at all envisioning that scene.

"When I'd finished my say I bounded aboard, hollerin' the order to Cast Off. That git dodged the falling gang plank an' scrambled up onto the dock to stare after our departure. Didn't utter a word I could hear- too shocked, or resigned. Jus' stood theer, drippin' like a scarecrow in monsoon, watchin' me and my fair lady vanish into the night." A trace of regret invaded Sparrow's voice. "That were the last view I ever had of Barbossa."

"And do you happen to know what became of him afterwards?"

"I had a reliable account. He gathered together those crewmen who'd been left ashore with him, an' that lot managed ta commandeer a worthy brig. The _Carthage_, if I recall right. I give the sod credit fer following sound advice; he left the _Pearl_ an' myself alone from then on. 'Twas on board the _Carthage_ that he died, two years later, when the Royal Navy finally caught up with him."

Jack's demeanor was unmistakably sad. "And you mourned for him."

"Not fer the blaggard hisself, so much ez what he represented," Sparrow clarified. "'Twas plain ta me that a world with no place for Hector Barbossa wouldn't have any more use fer Jack Sparrow. Not the original version, anyway."

"Was this when you first faked a demise?" James guessed.

"Aye. That narrative also has it's amusing aspects..."

"Then I'll look forward to hearing it another time." They were closing on their destination. Street odors were giving way to those of tar, brine, and drying seaweed.

A final turn 'round a rough brick wall brought Bombay Harbor into view. James couldn't help being moved at the sight of so many rigged masts. The Age of Sail might be in it's twilight days here, but it was still alive.

The pair approached a particular long berth, only to be confronted by a fierce-visaged guard with a curved sword under his sash, and a mustache nearly the size of his turban. A _Shoorsaini_, James recognized- nobody to take chances with.

"What business you? No business, no come!" the man gruffly informed them. But his aspect softened as Jack, using a far more convincing female voice, explained the situation in Hindi. This English _Mahodaya_ would soon be making a voyage back to his native land, and wished to have a look at the available vessels. He only intended to make use of this dock's vantage point, not to board any of the berthed ships. His dutiful concubine would remind him, if necessary.

Norrington, staying in character, remained aloof from this conversation between subordinates. He did have to suppress an eyebrow arch, upon recognizing a less-than-flattering term.

The guard grunted and stepped from their path, waving permission. James gave the big man no acknowledgement in passing. As he and Jack proceeded down the pier James remarked, "I do know what 'kutte' means."

Sparrow wasn't the least bit abashed. "I included that fer authenticity. 'Tis only expected fer me ta express distain fer a foreigner who can't be bothered ta learn one word of the native tongue." His friend was in a position to know, Norrington conceded. "Anyway, you don't necessarily have ta regard it as an insult, considerin' yer fondness fer all things canine."

They soon reached the pier's furthest end. Jack took the umbrella as James reached into his frock coat pocket, extracting a small spy glass. Sparrow, shading eyes with his free hand, was already examining the adjacent ships. "I believe yon galleon is our soon-ta-be distressed damsel," he remarked, pointing eighty degrees to starboard.

Norrington peered through his spyglass, checking the name on the bow. "Quite correct- that's the _Demeter_." He looked over the full length of the elegant white-and-gold passenger vessel- clean sails, gracefully curved railings, gilded figurehead of a goddess bearing an armload of fruits.

James handed the spyglass to Sparrow, who made his own inspection. "A right fair lady she is! Much too proper ta be consortin' with the hagfish."

"Which is why we're here." The Commodore made a show of checking out some more passenger ships, during which he located a nearby storage shed on a short pier. "That should serve our purposes."

As they left the dock, his consort bestowed what James considered an overly flirtatious "Dhanyavaad!" on the guard. "Probably the high point of his day!" Jack blithely explained.

With seeming nonchalance, the two made their way towards the storage shed. After making a fast check for observers, they turned the structure's corner and quickly descended the embankment, slipping into the dark space beneath the pier. It was low-ceilinged and smelly, but the wet foundation stones provided sufficiently firm footing.

Jack grinned as he unwound the brilliant sari, uncovering a short gray wetsuit with a puffy belt, and two 'rebreather' face masks strapped to his chest. He detached these latter items, handing one to his colleague. James hung the mask around his own neck, then removed his frock coat, boots and breeches- he wore a similar wetsuit beneath, with a mesh bag attached to the belt. Norrington retrieved the spyglass from his coat pocket, wrapped the sari tight around this precious object, and slipped it into the mesh bag. From his other coat pocket he extracted a less-recognizable item; a set of brass knuckles with projecting claws, which he slipped over the fingers of his right hand.

Meanwhile, Sparrow furled and compressed the umbrella. Gripping the thick handle, he unscrewed the bent section to expose a wide drill bit. Brief finger pressure on the disguised shaft button verified it was functioning.

"Don't dig too deep- we don't want her taking water while she's still at dock," Norrington reminded.

"I assure you, Commodore; when it comes ta damaging ships, I'm never anxious ta do worse'en what's absolutely required."

The Operatives positioned their face masks over mouths and eyes, tightening the head straps. Both had originally learned to scuba dive with compressed-air tanks, but this more advanced technology, which extracted breathable oxygen directly from the water, was far more compact and discreet. As were their wide 'chambered nautilus' belts, which, like the eponymous cephalopod, could automatically adjust their content density to provide neutral buoyancy.

Leaving their more-expendable clothing items under a wet rock, the two waded into the moderate harbor surf. Jack used the umbrella's compass to get a bearing on their target, then they submerged and started kicking. The enveloping liquid coolness was certainly a relief.

As was usual for dock areas, the water wasn't the cleanest- it was, in fact, hazy with suspended particles, imparting an unappealing green-brown hue. But the tropical sun penetrated well enough to illuminate their way, past the treelike dock pilings and rocking hulks of moored ships. They swam for several minutes, keeping closer to the junk-strewn bottom than the flickering water surface, until the _Demeter's_ great oblong hull loomed dead ahead.

They ascended, angling towards the pointed end of the barnacle-encrusted behemoth. Careful to remain a couple meters below the surface (which from this side resembled a restless quicksilver ceiling), they closed on the starboard bow. Jack ran hands over the timbers just aft of the keel, searching out a seam. Upon locating one, he patted the ship in an apologetic way, then applied the umbrella handle to the spot. James positioned himself close alongside, digging in his gripping claw to hold them both in place. They'd rehearsed this operation in a swimming pool mockup. In an underwater environment, drilling required two people; one to operate the drill and another to provide bracing.

Sparrow activated the device, sinking the rotating bit deep into the plank. Norrington pushed against the counter-circular forces threatening to dislodge them. Wood splinters and pulverized barnacles spewed into the surrounding water, clouding Jack's view, but he continued to work by feel. Three minutes later he shut off the drill, waving a hand to disperse the waterborne debris.

Both saboteurs examined the results. Sparrow had carved a rough oval indent into the timbers, about fifteen inches long and three deep. That weakened spot was invisible from inside the hull, or from the deck, but when the ship got up to speed the compromised seam would cave under the swell-pressure. The resulting leak would take in water fast enough to necessitate a return to port. Repairing the hole would require one day's effort; another would be spent accommodating the crew's opposition to disembarking on a Friday. That two-day delay would assure the _Demeter's_ avoidance of the rather intense typhoon, currently brewing in the waters southwest of Ceylon. Her passengers would reach London behind schedule, but they'd all get there. Including one young woman, unknown to history, who would influence a vital future event.

Having judged the damage sufficient, the two Operatives followed the reverse compass heading back to the overhanging pier. Their clothing bundle was still where they'd left it. As he shrugged into his damp coat, James ducked to check the sky. "We should return now, while it's light enough to hide our Timenet."

Jack, seated on a boulder to replace his sandals, looked a bit disappointed. "We could wait a bit longer. If we activate the Timenet underwater, it'll be inconspicuous even after dark. Murphy did say it'll work there."

"He also said that's not the preferred exit strategy. 'A direct transition from water to air involves possibility of injury, as well as the certainty of an undignified landing.' Furthermore..." James drew forth the spyglass, tilting it to let the silk wrapping fall in a sodden heap, "... you haven't got a thing to wear."

Sparrow's pout would've done a thwarted preschooler proud. "You sabotaged my outerwear on purpose, ya bloody take-no-unnecessary-chances Navyman!"

"Perhaps I did. I really think we had sufficient sightseeing this morning." James proceeded to replace his breeches and boots. "I assume you took your pills?"

"Of course. I've no hankerin' fer any unauthorized passengers ta stow away in my innards."

"Then let's be on our way." Norrington slung both masks on his arm and stepped towards a large rock, spyglass in hand.

"Just a moment!" Sparrow bent to scoop up the dripping sari, hugging it to himself like a rescued cat.

James looked dubious. "Do you really think that's worth taking home? It's ruined with salt water!"

"Don't underestimate the capacities of dry-cleaners, cousin. After passing through theer hands, this bit o' cloth should be near good as new." Jack employed his best Kouros smile... so very like Essie's. The ex-pirate was as adept as she'd been, at coaxing James to let a matter slide.

"Very well. But please don't start traipsing around the house in that thing." The larger man drew his arm back, preparing to whack the spyglass to activate the Net.

"I was actually plannin' ta gift this to your fair lady. Theer's a fair chance 'twill look fetching on her, don't you think?"

James paused, struck by a vision of Meredith draped in those fluttering silk folds, bright colors shimmering with every movement of her long limbs... He cleared his throat. "Quite a high probability, Mr. Sparrow. I suppose you're right; such fine fabric is worth salvaging."

Jack slung the bunched garment over his neoprene-clad shoulder, teeth glinting in the light of the lowering sun. "Aye. We must give frugality it's due, ol' Commodore."

x

_Hindi translations:_

_Mahodaya - Gentleman._

_Kutte- Dog. In most Indian cultures, any comparison with a dog is considered a serious insult._

_Dhanyavaad - Thank You._

_x_

_The Shoorsaini, aka the Saini, are a warrior caste originating from northwest India. Under the British Raj they were frequently employed as guards and elite soldiers._

_The hagfish, an eel-like relative of the lamprey, is an ocean scavenger found in deep waters._

**xxx**


	2. Chapter 2

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney._

_xxx_

Meredith and James agreed: all the rhapsodizing about Springtime in Paris was deserved, regardless of which year it was. This one happened to be 1888.

It was early evening. The western horizon was still aglow, though it didn't obscure the stars appearing in the east. Mr. and Mrs. Norrington could see both from their outdoor brasserie table, but their gazes were mostly fixed on each other. Mare was fetchingly decked out in a tiered peach skirt, puff-sleeved black blouse and small peaked hat. Norrington was equally elegant in his own formal wear; coal-black trousers, top coat and waistcoat, over a white shirt with throat ruffles. A gold-knobbed walking stick and silk opera hat finished the ensemble. The fragrance of chestnut blossoms wafted over them both as James filled their stemmed glasses from a deep green wine bottle. The lady sipped delicately as the gentleman leaned close to her comely ear, murmuring tenderly:

"Stuttering of the engine denotes a problem with the fuel-delivery system. Check the fuel filter/water separator first. Open the bowl petcock to see whether water issues forth, indicating contaminated fuel. Then check the filter element for any debris plugs. Replace it if there is any possibility of tearing. To avoid future engine shutdowns, pump the line with a vacuum gauge to diagnose any flow resistance..."

That was a passage from an outboard-motor repair manual they'd both memorized, so was unlikely to distract her from the vital task of listening to the conversation at the adjacent table. Three well-dressed, somewhat tense-looking young men were huddled close over their own beverages. James could've deduced they were in this establishment for other than the usual reasons, just from the indifferent way they dealt with the buxom Mademoiselle who took their drink orders.

Mare's lips brushed his own earlobe, as she whispered in reply, "The one in the green waistcoat."

Norrington's hooded eyes gave that youth a single glance, before James bent to return the ear caress. Mare gripped the neck of the wine bottle, moving it out of their way- as she did, she carefully scraped the dome of her 'opal' ring across the opening. There was a low hissing of escaping bubbles, as the added powder started to convert the alcohol content into water. The couple deliberately rubbed silk blouse against shirt ruffles for a minute, to cover the sound. It was a shame to subject good wine to such treatment, Norrington thought. But even the French might consider it justified under the circumstances.

When the effervescent noise faded, Meredith slowly drew back. Her expression was heavy with regret as she explained she really must leave now. James' entreaties were in vain; she stood, drawing the lace shawl over her shoulders. "S'il vous plaît, revenir à votre domicile. Avoir un bon sommeil."

Norrington had no difficulty feigning dejection as he watched her go, her pale skirt flouncing on the night breeze. Glowering, he filled both glasses with the now-inert beverage, quickly tossing them back. He'd finished three-fourths the bottle by the time the three young blades set down a few coins and dispersed. James arose with a manufactured stagger, 'incidentally' exiting in the same direction as the green-vested youth.

He continued to take slugs from the bottle as he followed from a distance. The inebriated walk was also easy to fake; he was all too familiar with how that looked. The hardness of a concealed derringer pistol pressed against his hip as he lurched- he very much hoped he'd be able to leave it there. This was not a monster he was stalking, just a foolishly infatuated admirer of anarchist Louise Michel- the so-called Red Virgin of Montmartre. This callow youth and his comrades probably believed their planned act of destruction would (somehow) be of benefit to the common people. They'd know better when they got older, and they should be permitted to.

As expected, James' quarry was making his way westward, along the Seine's left bank. A quarter-hour later the boy reached the end of the paved walkway, but continued on, over uneven weed-grown ground. In this unlit area Norrington could abandon his drunken act, but it was also more difficult to keep the youth in view. Luckily, James was already 99% sure where the boy was going: to that section of the bank near the Champ de Mars where construction was currently underway on the upcoming Paris Exposition Universelle. Norrington could already recognize one partly-completed structure. The Eiffel Tower was, at this point, only a huge splay-legged filigree table; the graceful tapering shaft would be built later. At least if his Mission was successful.

Norrington watched his quarry walk up to the wooden fence marking the edge of the fairgrounds. Obviously the youth been here before; he sought out one slightly-askew board, pushed it to the left and squeezed through. It emitted a squeak, so James delayed for a half-minute before following. Visibility would improve on the further side, where there were some gas lamps illuminating the storage yard.

James pushed through the same gap, quickly spotting the green-vested figure trotting alongside the riverbank. James hurried to catch up, taking care not to trip on the abundant construction debris. The boy turned, descending the bank opposite from the now-looming Tower base. James closed just enough distance enough to see what the boy was doing, then ducked behind a stack of iron girders.

After taking a glance around him, the young anarchist approached a nondescript crumble of tarp and yanked it back. Four tarred firkins- nine-gallon barrels- were uncovered, along with a stiff coil of fuse rope. Recently unloaded from a fellow conspirator's river boat, no doubt. The boy tucked one of these kegs beneath his arm and headed towards the Tower base, and the shorter barrier fence surrounding that. James continued to watch as the youth set down his load, pulled three boards loose from the fence, rolled the barrel through the gap and vanished inside himself.

Norrington hastened to the remaining firkins, using his cane point to pry off one of the bungs. He dipped a finger inside- it came up coated with course gray particles. One taste confirmed this was gunpowder. No doubt the boy intended to position these barrels against one of the unfinished Tower's supports, thread them with the fuse, then light it and get away before the explosion. Four firkins would produce a big enough blast to sever the leg, collapsing the whole structure. This Exposition's budget was already stretched- with no means to cover the repair costs, Eiffel's lofty project would never see completion.

James pushed the opened keg onto it's side and kicked it. The barrel started down the bank, spewing spurts of powder, but uncooperatively turned from it's path and rolling up against a weed clump. Norrington scrambled after it, giving the keg another downhill push. The barrel grudgingly finished the decent, splashing into the slow-moving Seine. Whether it floated off or not was unimportant; water seeping into the bung hole would render the powder harmless either way.

James hurried back to the remaining kegs, cursing the lost time. Hefting his cane, he quickly pried off another bung. He was about to launch the second barrel on it's way when an angry bark made him freeze.

"Tu! Que faites-vous ici, vous ivrogne puant?"

The saboteur had returned sooner than anticipated. Norrington assumed a blankly happy drunkard's expression as he turned, waving the nearly-empty wine bottle.

"Bonsoir, mon ami! Un bon morceau de chance, n'est-ce pas?" he slurred.

Alas, this youngster proved to be the suspicious type- he drew his own small revolver, pointing it straight at the ex-Commodore. James made a show of hurt bafflement, flailing arms in a deliberate imitation of Jack Sparrow's absurd, and distracting, gestures.

"Quel est le problème? C'est certainement assez pour nous deux!"

"Imbécile! Ce ne sont pas des tonneaux de vin!" the man yelled, loudly enough to obscure sounds of stealthy approach behind him. The solid WHACK on the top of his head he would've heard, if he'd been awake for it.

Mare kept hold of the metal rod as she kicked the revolver out of the sprawled figure's grip, stooping to transfer it to her own waistband. Then she checked the boy's neck pulse, simultaneously eyeing the head wound. Norrington noticed, too well, that Meredith had discarded her rustle-prone skirt, and now wore nothing below the waist except short frilled knickers and black silk stockings, glistening from thigh to ankle...

"He'll live. And he won't have a clue who took him out."

Mastering himself, James finished opening the last keg. "Did you see where he put the first one?"

"Yes. I'll get it." Mare ran off towards the tower, ducking through that same hiatus in the fence- she was strikingly agile in high-button shoes. Norrington turned to his own task, toppling the remaining pair of barrels and giving them strong shoves down the bank. These firkins proved more obliging; they both rolled all the way into the drink, leaving dotted powder trails. James heaved the coiled fuse in after them.

He checked to make sure the unconscious anarchist still was, before approaching the damaged barrier. Mare met him at the opening, rolling the first keg before her. James hoisted it overhead, hurried to the embankment, tossed it after it's fellows. The couple watched with satisfaction as the whole lot floated sullenly away. The anarchist emitted a semiconscious moan.

"Let's go." Norrington led the way back to the eastern fence, with it's swinging board. When they reached the other side Mare made a quick meander towards the river, to retrieve her stowed skirt, shawl and hat from a weed cluster.

"How'd you get past the fence the first time?" James inquired.

"Climbed," she answered, struggling to replace her garments on the run. They hastened over the last bit of rough ground, stepping high to avoid tripping in the near-total darkness.

Upon regaining the gas-lit walkway, they slowed and linked arms, looking like an ordinary respectable couple taking an evening stroll. Neither worried about the would-be saboteur catching up to them. It would take a while before he was alert enough to stand, and once he did, he'd spend a few more minutes establishing that all his equipment had been sabotaged. Whereupon he'd slink off into the night, remaining nameless to them and to history.

But as James knew, the broken fence and traces of spilled gunpowder would be discovered tomorrow morning. The civil authorities, alarmed by what had almost happened, would redouble the construction site's night guard. Eiffel's creation would be completed next year, in time to showcase the Exposition Universelle. And to play it's other historical roles- becoming the world's symbol for Paris and France, providing Theodor Wulf with a platform to assist his 1910 discovery of cosmic rays, transmitting vital messages to the French forces during W.W.I, bringing in large yearly volumes of tourist revenue. And, not incidentally, stimulating an uncountable number of romantic impulses.

/ _Speaking of which..._ /

The glimmer of reflected lamps on the Seine, and remembered vision of similar glinting on those silk stockings, were giving James agreeable ideas for how they might spend their post-Mission time. But when he turned to his lady, Mare's haunted expression gave him pause. Then it occurred to him: this evening's skirmish must have awakened memories of the last time she'd struck a man over the head.

"Unhappy recollections?" She nodded, lips pressed. He squeezed her hand. "You prevented a massacre that day, Mare. That region of England is prosperous to this day because of what you did."

"I'm aware- I don't regret it, James. I just not the sort to commit murder without a qualm."

"I wouldn't like to think you were, cinnabar. And don't imagine I can't identify. Even on those rare occasions when it's absolutely justifiable to take a life, you always wonder afterwards whether it could have been avoided. Whether that individual might have turned out much better, if something in their life circumstances had been different."

"I know. If he'd been raised with just a few more ethics, or hadn't lost his first wife to a fever... maybe he'd've been more inhibited about arranging the slaughter of perfectly harmless people, just to gain more land." Mare shut her eyes a moment, James draped an arm across her shoulders. "I have no idea what, if anything, could've prevented his becoming an ice-hearted slave to ambition. Do you know, I don't think he was even capable of lust? At least not the usual, animal sort. Just in reveling over another conquest."

"He really felt nothing for you? That does seem... disturbingly unnatural."

"He did like my hair- virtually everybody does. But beyond that, I don't think he ever gave me two minute's thought. I was just a pretty-enough bauble he was willing to accept in lieu of a cash repayment. Never occurred to him, I'm sure, to wonder how I felt about the deal." Her eyes narrowed. "Or what I might be willing to do to get out of it."

James cleared his throat. "I must confess, this is a chapter of your history I prefer not to ponder at length. Anyway, doesn't dwelling on negatives seem particularly wasteful in a setting such as this?"

Mare looked ahead, to the reflection of a gilt-figure bridge shimmering on the Seine. "You're absolutely right, James." She reached to pull off her peaked hat, letting her locks tumble on the night breeze. James suddenly realized he'd misplaced his own opera hat. Though, as he'd acquired it here, that was unlikely to matter.

Mare regarded him kittenishly. "Perhaps it would be pleasanter to speak about things we might do when we return to the hotel?"

"That would, indeed, be a far more enjoyable." Norrington bent to nuzzle her ear- not for show this time. "I did bring a couple condoms." At her concerned look, he added, "Sewn into my coat lining." They were both aware how disastrous it would be to accidentally leave such a thing behind in this earlier age. The births that might prevent...!

"Perhaps, there's no need to extract them."

"Oh." James couldn't conceal his disappointment.

"No, no! I mean, I think it's time to stop using contraceptives."

"Oh!" They were now passing by a chestnut grove; the whisper of breeze-blown flowers was most seductive. "You are quite sure that's not the scenery talking?"

"Darling, we're weeks away from our second wedding anniversary. I don't need to wait any longer. Do you?" Smiling, Mare snuggled close to his side, one hand slipping beneath his coat. James blushed at his own response.

"I, would... yes, I'm perfectly all right with that," he assured clumsily. Drat her female wiles! "This... you realize, this will mean, we should forgo doing any higher-risk Missions for a while. That is, you'll certainly have to, which will make me feel obliged to also... I mean..."

Mare laughed aloud. "James! You kept your composure better when that kid was pointing a gun at you!"

"This is an entirely different situation," Norrington huffed, making an extra-hard effort to get a grip on himself. So to speak.

"I don't mind doing the less-dangerous jobs for a while- those can be interesting too. We'll have time for more adventures later. As well as other things."

James was still adjusting to the idea that they might have centuries before them yet... well, his lady was certainly providing evidence they might find enjoyable ways to fill those years.

"Sooo... let's just skip the condom. That'll save us some preparation time." Meredith performed another cheeky undulation against him. Norrington sucked a breath.

"Whatever you desire, Mare."

Thank God it wasn't much further to that hotel!

xxx

**FINIS**

xxx

_Translations from the French:_

_'S'il vous plaît revenir à votre domicile. Avoir un bon sommeil.' - 'Please return to your home. Have a good sleep.'_

_'Tu! Que faites-vous ici, vous ivrogne puant?' - 'You! What are you doing here, you stinking drunk?'_

_'Bonsoir, mon ami! Un bon morceau de chance, n'est-ce pas?' - 'Good evening, my friend! A fine piece of luck, isn't it?'_

_'Quel est le problème? C'est certainement assez pour nous deux!' - 'What is the problem? This is certainly enough for us both!'_

_'Imbécile! Ce ne sont pas des tonneaux de vin!' - 'Idiot! These are not wine barrels!'_

x

_Historical Notes:_

_Anarchism is a school of political theory which deems governments to be unnecessary and/or harmful, and promotes their elimination. In Europe and the United States, the Anarchism Movement reached it's height of popularity between 1860 to 1939. One of it's prominent French advocates was the charismatic Louise Michel (1830-1905), who traveled throughout France in the late 1800's (excluding time spent in jail or in exile), advocating revolution and leading demonstrations, including some which resulted in property damage._

_A few of the movement's more extreme members committed murderous acts during these years. Possibly among them was the unknown person who threw a bomb during the Chicago Haymarket Square labor rally (May 3, 1886), which killed a police officer, provoking a riot that took at least eleven more lives. Italian anarchist Sante Geronimo Caserio fatally stabbed Marie Francois Carnot, president of the French Third Republic, in Lyon France (June 24, 1894.) Fellow Italian anarchist Gaetano Bresci assassinated King Umberto I of Italy (July 29, 1900), saying he had acted for the good of the common people. His statement apparently helped influence American anarchist Leon Frank Czolgosz to gun down President William McKinley (September 6, 1901.)_

_There's actually no record of any anarchist conspiracy to destroy the Eiffel Tower, but it's certainly within the realm of historic possibility._  
_x_

_The Eiffel Tower- named after its designer, engineer Gustave Eiffel- was built between 1887 and 1889. It's original purpose was to serve as the entrance arch for the Paris Exposition Universelle; a World's Fair marking the centennial of the French Revolution. The Tower, which was not immediately popular with all Parisians, was originally scheduled to be dismantled in 1909, when it's ownership reverted to the city. But by then the metal structure had proved to be valuable for transmitting radio signals, so it was awarded an extension. After the military used the Tower to dispatch Parisian taxis to the front line during the First Battle of the Marne it became a symbol of that French victory, and all proposals to scrap it were permanently tabled._


	3. Chapter 3

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney._

_xxx  
_

Though he had a definite preference for ocean vistas, even Jack Sparrow could appreciate the harsh beauty of the Badlands of Billings County, North Dakota. It actually bore some resemblance to a stormy ocean; row after row of eroded sandstone forms, like frozen waves striped with bleached reds, grays, and golds. Though what impressed him most at the moment was the plethora of hiding places such a landscape afforded. It was the morning of May 28, 1884, when that aspect happened to be of significance.

Sparrow was crouched behind a pair of boulders topping a bluff, poking binoculars through the gap to search the aforementioned landscape. From this crest he had a panoramic view of the land adjacent to the narrow wagon track below, winding like a brown ribbon among the mounds. An opportune locale for a trap, indeed.

Vague movement caught his eye, from behind a similar cluster of rocks crowning a furrowed knoll on the other side of the track. It was the bobbing of a human-made object; a wide-brimmed hat. Peering close to confirm, Jack spotted another hat in motion. "I believe we've found 'em!" he sent over his shoulder.

He continued watching 'til he'd counted at least four heads. All, he knew, belonging to outlaws who'd decided the obviously wealthy owner of nearby Elk Horn Ranch was worth seizing for ransom. They'd talked with an unwary employee there, who'd informed them 'the Boss' was planning to ride to Medora by himself today. What they probably didn't know was what a pugnacious SOB that fellow could be. He'd give his attackers a fight, even at the risk of probably-fatal consequences.

Murphy's People would prefer that didn't happen.

Sparrow turned to look behind him. A booted blue-jeaned figure was holding the reins of their horses ten meters downslope. The latter were a pair of tough, fast, scruffy cow ponies, one brunette and one dark blond.

"Confirmed! This spot'll do." His voice was just a little lower in volume than usual- a normal speaking tone shouldn't carry all the way to the knoll.

Meredith nodded, bending to place two picket pins to stake out their mounts. Jack, who kept a mental list of ways Mare was similar to, and dissimilar from, Elizabeth, added an item to the former category: they could both do a fair job of passing for a lad. Mare was currently dressed in a loose Clint Eastwoodesque poncho, with her hair tucked under a brown 'Boss of the Plains' hat. Sparrow wore comparable garments, save for his curved-brimmed red-banded black Stetson.

Having given each horse a reassuring pat, Mare ascended the stony slope to join him, pulled out her own binoculars. She first examined the bushwhackers' knoll, then turned the binoculars left, studying the wagon track. That end of it led to the Elk Horn Ranch. As Mare settled to keep watch, she gathered the poncho above her waist- instantly compromising her resemblance to a man. Jack considered it most fortunate he was the only one in a position to see. Overall, Meredith was slightly less classically beautiful than Liz, but certain of her features were superior. Notably that high, well-rounded...

"Eyes to the front, if you please, Mr. Sparrow."

Jack obeyed, looking quite miffed. "So now you've got eyes on the back of yer head in addition to yer esper ability?"

"No need, when it's such a predictable behavior on your part." Mare's tone was dry as the landscape.

"Lass, if yer going ta pack that distinctly above-average backside inta tight denim, you must expect blokes ta take notice. Anything else'd be unnatural."

"It's demeaning."

"Not necessarily. 'Could be pure esthetic appreciation, like enjoyin' the sight of a full-bellied sail. Theer's even a certain similarity of shape."

Mare bestowed the same glower she'd use on a misbehaving little boy. "Is that how you'd explain it to James, if he was here?"

"Hardly! He ain't got the kind of arse I care ta ogle- too manly in it's contours. Though, I'd expect you ta hold a differing view of it."

"You really are incorrigible!"

"Certain past acquaintances have regarded that as part of my charm," Jack smirked.

"And you have an answer for everything."

"See response to above comment."

"Switching to a more important subject, and just about every subject is... " Mrs. Norrington's tone softened, as she resumed surveying the track, "I don't know that I have any 'esper abilities.'"

Sparrow's eyebrows arched towards his hat band. "Ya coulda fooled me! The way you picked apart that dissembling Countess in Prague..."

"I mean, I don't know for sure if they're 'extra sensory' perceptions or just especially reliable 'ordinary sensory' perceptions." Her nails drummed the binoculars. "By the way: whichever it is, I did lose it once. When I was thirteen years old. I caught a fever- ran a high temperature for two days. It was disconcerting... like suddenly losing ability to taste anything. But it came back after the fever broke. James believes this is significant."

Jack was well aware of the good Commodore's efforts to discover just how Meredith managed to so accurately read other people's intentions. "With all due respect ta Mr. Norrington, he's somewhat prone ta disproportionate concern over matters with little, or no, practical application."

"Don't I know it! Though I can hardly fault him for having an active mind." Mare gave her fellow Operative a sideways glance. "I guess I'm one notch down. I like to understand things well enough to have some idea how to repair them when they break down, but anything beyond that isn't worth sweating over. You, on the other hand... as long as things work, you don't seem to give any thought to how."

"It saves a lot of frustration, fer someone of my admittedly limited mechanical aptitude," the pirate replied amiably.

Mare suddenly stiffened, catching sight of movement on the track. Sparrow peered through his own binoculars to check. "Jus' a coyote," he sniffed.

Mare relaxed again. "In all honesty, Jack, it might be worth your while to develop a bit more curiosity. It'll keep you aware of things. For example; have you ever wondered why Murphy's People hire Operatives instead of carrying out these Missions themselves?"

"'M just glad ta be reaping the benefits, luv."

"That's a basic difference between us, then. One of the first questions I asked Murphy when he explained who he was and what he wanted me to do, was why didn't he take care of this task himself, if it was so vital?"

"Understandable, considering the risk-endowed an' illegal- though not necessarily immoral- nature of said task. What was his answer?"

"He told me his people couldn't do it because they aren't native to this planet, or any other. If they get directly involved in events here it has a chafing effect on the Timelines. Which we, the natives, do not." Mare shifted on her perch. "Of course, I can only take his word on that."

"'Have to do that a lot, dealin' with these blighters."

"He did give me a second reason. If it was known who the murderer was, and known she'd died a deservedly ignominious death by drowning, the victim's relatives probably wouldn't bother pursuing any further vengeance. None of them actually liked him, and they'd be happy about inheriting his estate. But if the killer was unknown, they might feel obliged to frame and execute some innocent for the crime, just so's they could say they'd seen 'justice' done. I could certainly understa... hey, I think that's him!"

Jack swung up his binoculars. At the far left end of the track a dun-colored horse had just trotted onto view. Both watchers studied the rider; a robust figure in a tan buckskin jacket and rancher's hat, with sun glints on his face denoting eyeglasses. He rode at an energetic pace, projecting an aura of fitness and vigor even from this distance.

Sparrow grinned. "Aye! That's our protectee!"

Jack and Mare reached to their belts, drawing forth Colt 45 six-shooters. They braced these against the rocks, aiming just above the bushwhackers' knoll. It was not feasible, or necessary, to gun down the outlaws, just to startle them into giving away their presence.

The unsuspecting rider had crossed half the distance to the knoll. Jack nodded to Mare. "On your mark, my lady."

"At the count of three! One, two...!"

They pulled the triggers simultaneously, firing three round apiece in fast succession. The bunched shots echoed loudly among the land forms, as did the alarmed shouts of the hidden miscreants.

Down on the track, the rider halted, standing erect in his stirrups. But he remained where he was- though he could tell there were several ambushers ahead, this chap was not prone to backing away from fights.

Jack, glaring through binoculars, fairly sputtered. "C'mon, mate, don't make a mockery of our efforts! You'll have plentiful future opportunities ta display yer mettle- now's the time ta give common sense it's due!"

It seemed the git finally reached that same conclusion; he wheeled his horse and galloped off, back towards the safety of his ranch. Jack punched the air triumphantly. With that head start the thwarted abductors would have no chance of catching up with him.

A tug on Sparrow's elbow, plus a growing babble of angry voices and hoof beats, reminded him their own position was a lot more precarious.

"Jack, I think somebody's mad at us!"

"I concur with yer assessment, lass. Let's scarper!"

The two scrambled down the rocky slope, climbed aboard their mounts and took off, their fringed ponchos flapping. When Mare surged to the front Jack didn't contest it- the wench had probably made more profitable study of the topo maps.

They raced down the bluff into a maze of furrowed rock formations, zigzagging with apparent randomness. Neither spared any glance behind- they could tell from the sounds that the desperadoes had followed them into the maze. "Bugger!" Jack snarled. Their pursuers must be riding similarly sure-footed steeds.

"Yah! Yah!" barked Mare, spurring her mount to greater speed across a relatively open stretch. Sparrow did likewise- the horses could move faster on this straightway, but there was also greater danger of someone getting a bead on them. As if to confirm, he heard a zing of bullet striking boulder, disturbingly close to their starboard side. The horses wisely kept up the pace, speeding across the open ground and into another rock-lined passage.

Seconds later, Meredith gestured frantically with her left arm- just in time, Jack realized her meaning. Next instant she'd reined her horse hard to port, into the mouth of a nearly invisible draw. Sparrow almost collided as he followed. They raced up the narrow way- at the first bend Mare raised a palm, bringing them both to a halt. The horses snorted fiercely as they were reined about. Jack and Meredith drew their half-empty revolvers, aiming back the way they'd come, towards the thunder of nearing hooves.

An equine shape darkened the draw entrance for just an instant- the hunched rider never glanced their way. A second shape followed, equally fleet and oblivious, and a third, and forth. The pounding hoof beats and dust billows wafting up the draw quickly faded to insignificance.

Mare smiled broadly. "They can't tell the echoes of their own galloping from ours!"

Relieved, the two holstered their guns, leaned to give each other high-fives. The celebrating cow ponies threw their heads about.

Coaxing their hard-breathing mounts to a walk, Jack and Mare continued up the narrow draw. "That was an admirable maneuver, lass!"

"A risk that paid off! I was worried you wouldn't be able to make such a sharp turn."

Jack affected a hurt expression. "Surely I've mentioned my stint working cattle in Argentina- I've used that very move ta cut cows from the herd. Could you not tell I was relating a truthful account?"

Mare gave him a searching look. "With you, Jack, I sometimes I have a hard time discerning just what you believe and what you've imagined. I think it's 'cause you've embellished these yarns so often you're not always certain yourself."

"Yer too perceptive by half, wench," Jack pretended to grumble.

A few minutes of leisurely riding brought them out of the draw and onto another bluff. This also commanded a fine view of eroded monoliths, though from a lower angle.

The horses halted again, shaking their brown and yellow manes. Jack unslung his binoculars, twisting the instrument to disconnect it's two cylinders. "Ready to go?"

"Give me a minute." Mare was taking in the colorful vista, a warm breeze tugging her poncho. "This really is a beautiful place. I can understand why he wanted to preserve it... or will want to." She nodded in the general direction of the ranch.

"He'll live ta see it done! History remembers that gentleman as a rough-riding adventurer, not a damn fool. He'll bring an armed escort along next time he takes a ride inta town."

"Another _fait accompli_, then." The lass turned her willing horse. "Okay, I'm ready."

Jack smashed the binocular lenses together, threw both pieces towards open air. The glowing Timenet unfolded in it's usual soundless manner. The horses, trained to be familiar with that sight, whinnied eagerly- they knew their home pastures waited on the further side.

Sparrow and Mare took a last glance around the distinctive landscape- soon to be declared Theodore Roosevelt National Park- before cantering through.

xxx

**FINIS**

xxx

_The Badlands are a picturesquely erodes drylands region in southwest North Dakota, so named because the irregular topography and scarcity of water makes the area unsuitable for farming. Theodore Roosevelt- perhaps the most physically active man to ever achieve the presidency- ran a cattle operation there, from 1884 to 1885. His ranch, the Elk Horn, is now a part of the National Park named after him._


	4. Chapter 4

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney._

_xxx_

The afternoon sky was sporting it's usual clear blue, and Norrington was having trouble focusing on his studies. Garrett Mattingly's Renaissance Diplomacy, though commendably informative, wasn't exactly the most riveting reading:

_'As the age of the great councils approached, one heard more frequently and with a wider reference of the Christian Commonwealth, the 'res publica Christiana.' At Constance and at Basel the name was a battle cry to rally the enlightened against the divisive despotisms of Church and State. Its combination of Roman pride and Christian faith was more than a mere aspiration; it was almost a reality. In the documents of chanceries and the reasoning of lawyers, as well as in the exhortations of preachers and the dreams of scholars like Nicholas of Cusa, it stood for the common interests of the Community of Latin Christendom, interests which all men agreed were real and vital, however difficult it proved to give them practical political expression...'_

A stray breeze delivered a distractingly sweet scent to James' nostrils. The passion vines Meredith had planted around the perimeter of this deck were currently in bloom. She'd predicted the flowers would coordinate beautifully with the mosaic lining of the jacuzzi- the very one he was presently sitting in.

Norrington glanced down at that lining; a lively abstract swirl of multihued blue tiles and glass nuggets, interspersed with embedded scallop shells. Looking to the whimsical azure-and-white blossoms, he concluded Mare had got it right.

"Our lady has good decorative sense, doesn't she, Royal?" The addressed canine, reclining in shade near the villa's back wall, thumped his plumy tail in agreement.

James grinned, running the balls of his feet over the tiles. This proved to be an even worse distraction, evoking memories of the first time he'd felt that distinctive texture underfoot...

x

It had been over breakfast on their second day in Capri, when James and Meredith told Captain Sparrow they'd decided to accept his offer to join them in Holy Matrimony. Their friend approved wholeheartedly. "'Twill simplify the sleeping arrangements, won't it? I am aware that living room couch was never designed fer a bloke of Mr. Norrington's height."

So Jack spent the next hour playing Town Crier. He knocked on all the neighbor's gates to report that the people who'd just moved into the Weinstein Villa would be getting married in the cove late that afternoon, and that anybody who wanted could come to serve as witnesses. The response was startling, even given the legendary Italian enthusiasm for weddings. Several dozen folk- mostly groundskeepers, maids, and other serving staff- wanted not only to attend but contribute.

Out of nowhere a cream lace evening gown was produced for Meredith (the cleavage had to be sewn up a bit), and a fine black suit provided for James (who couldn't fit into Jack's formal wear.) A nanny who moonlighted as a hair dresser offered to arrange Mare's tresses in a becoming upswept style. Flowers were plucked to fashion a bouquet and floral headdress for the bride, & a jaunty rose boutonniere for the groom. Several bottles of wine were donated, along with fresh bread, fruits, cheeses, pasta dishes, and three-quarters of a very good cake (sponge with cannoli filling and chocolate-rum frosting- Sparrow had been ecstatic.)

So Meredith and James had a modest crowd of newly-met well-wishers in attendance as Jack conducted a simple ceremony on the beach. To his credit the ex-pirate had maintained a suitably dignified manner, excepting the eye twinkle as he pronounced, "You may now kiss your bonnie bride." James had obeyed with alacrity.

The small but festive reception was held in that same cove. None of the working-class guests minded the borrowed card tables, paper beverage cups or hodgepodge of foodstuffs. The tide cooperatively went out, leaving a satisfactory packed-sand dance floor. The cake and chianti had tasted splendid under the peach-and-fire sunset. After extending thanks to all their generous neighbors, Mare and James had slipped off in the gloaming, back to the villa and the north bedroom.

James was almost embarrassed to recall how much he'd enjoyed himself that night, and couldn't deny, the fact that their matrimonial status might not be quite 100% legitimate added a bit of spice. That circumstance bothered him a bit, between the hormone surges. When he'd admitted this to Meredith she'd landed a dope slap on the back of his head. "You just want to feel guilty about something, you crazy Quaker! If we both meant the 'I Do's, I'm sure that's all God cares about."

Early the next morning, James had shrugged into a borrowed bathrobe and, with some trepidation, ventured into the spacious copper-and-cherrywood kitchen. Nothing short of acute hunger could have driven him to risk Jack's oh-so-witty post-nuptial remarks. His plan was to enter quietly, nick something edible and escape back into the sanctuary of the bedroom.

But it was not to be. Sparrow was already there, bent over a stovetop skillet from which heavenly aromas wafted. As usual, he'd had no trouble detecting James' approach.

"Good morning, Mr. Norrington! I hope yer ez hungry ez expected. I've made a bountiful breakfast!" Jack had gestured towards a platter on the kitchen island, stacked high with steaming omelets.

"Thanks," Norrington murmured. He was about to seize the plate and flee when a tousled Meredith trounced in, wrapped in a rose-studded black kimono. "What are you making, Jack? It smells wonderful!"

"Omelets with fresh crab, lobster an' scallops. I figured the pair of you would be in resolute an' unyielding need of subsistence. Tableware's optional."

"Thank goodness!" Mare had attacked the stack barehanded. Between moans of appreciation she'd exclaimed, "James, you've got to taste these!"

Having already missed his chance to slip under the radar, Norrington had joined her at the island. His first mouthful of the entree momentarily drove all else from his mind. "This has to be the best thing you've ever cooked, Sparrow!"

Jack had grinned over his spatula. "It pays ta use quality ingredients. One of Capri's several advantages is, 'tis easy ta acquire fresh-caught seafood. Theer's a fish market not ten minutes walk from here- I gave 'em some business just after sunrise." He'd eyed the seriously depleted omelet pile. "From the looks of things I'd better pay 'em another visit. Would you fancy shrimp scampi fer lunch?"

"Yes, thank you!" Mare answered through another delectable mouthful.

"Mmmmph," Norrington agreed around his own.

Jack had switched the burner off & slid the last eggy half-circle onto the serving plate before depositing the pan in the sink. "I'll fetch the shrimp now, while the best selection's still available." Halfway out the kitchen door, he paused to look back. "Oh, an' one more thing..."

_/ Here it comes. /_ James had braced himself.

"I completed another task this mornin': the locatin' and installin' of a folding screen 'round the back-deck jacuzzi. You may feel free ta try it out- jus' drape a towel or two over the screen ta signal yer usin' it. Chow!" He bestowed a knowing smirk as he exited.

Norrington slumped. Mare noticed. "Is something wrong?"

"I fully expected him to tease us within an inch of our lives." James grimaced as he added, "Maybe he's saving it for later. He'll certainly have ample opportunity, with all these references to shellfish."

Mare smiled fondly. "Well, I have the impression Jack's happy for us. Certainly for you! If he does tease let's just laugh along." She plucked the last omelet from the plate, took a bite, offered the next to James. "Incidentally; what do shellfish have to do with...?"

"Surely you've heard rumors about their alleged aphrodisiacal effects." Norrington grinned wickedly, nibbling the speckled rind in Mare's fingers. His bride nibbled from the other side- their lips connected as the omelet disappeared.

"Mmmm... it's possible there's something to those rumors." She'd regarded her man in a downright indecent manner. "How 'bout we repair to that jacuzzi and find out?" Meredith gripped his elbow- elegantly, but very firmly- and headed for the deck.

Her new husband offered no resistance. He had learned last night: when this tigress was in the mood there was nothing to do but go along with it...

x

James was still grinning. His feet repeatedly caressed the remembered tiles as Mattingly drooping ever closer to the water. Royal rescued that endangered tome, with a sudden elevation of his head and an excited bark. Norrington knew whose arrival that indicated even before he heard the back door open. "I'm the only one here, Sparrow!"

He watched as a pair of polished black boots crossing the deck, under the lower edge of the woven wood barrier. When Jack reached the screen's end and stepped into view, Norrington had to stifle a groan. "Don't tell me you walked all the way from the arrival point in that getup!"

Sparrow waved both arms- presently encased in a black velvet trimmed with wide gold braid and lace cuffs. The matching breeches, plumed hat, and heavy gold medallion completed the attire of an eighteenth-century Spanish Viscount.

''Twas either this or parade through the streets in me altogether, mate. That Mission reached it's conclusion somewhat more abruptly than planned, so I'd no opportunity ta get changed. It wasn't my fault!" he insisted.

"It never is. And it keeps on happening," James tutted. "Sometimes I wonder why Murphy retains your services."

"Because the man knows quality when he sees it! Specifically, my unparalleled talent fer overcoming ensuing complications." Jack haughtily tossed his feathery headgear onto a deck chair. "We both know, jus' a spot of 'twanging' kin have a positive effect. Like the way moderate stress can strengthen a bone."

"I remember the lesson, Sparrow. 'A 'twang' might or might not be bad, a 'twist' is invariably undesirable, a 'hiatus' is to be avoided at all costs.'"

Jack was now toeing off his fine boots, whilst making a show of peering about. "Do ya happen ta know where the lasses are currently located?"

"My two warrior women are at Taekwondo class." Norrington grinned again, recollecting Lysee's demonstration kata last night. Her coordination was excellent for an eight-year-old; it wouldn't be much longer before he could start giving her fencing lessons...

By the time he realized Sparrow's motive for asking that bloody pirate had shed half his ridiculous costume, the other half obviously about to follow. "Keep a swimsuit within reach- they could be back anytime," James reminded.

"Aye aye, Commodore." Sparrow stepped to the bin, extracting a pair of black trunks kept there for just this contingency. Norrington lifted his book higher, in anticipation of the water jets coming on.

Seconds later they did. Jack plunking into the further side of the spa, positioning himself to simultaneously feel the jets on his back and the arches of both feet. His grunts of pleasure went on so long that Norrington complained, "Sparrow, I am attempting to read here."

"What're ya readin'?" James turned the paperback to display the cover. "Must be work-related."

"Indeed. Our mutual employer wants me to infiltrate a reception for an English delegation to Rome and remove a certain bottle of Lombardia wine before anybody has a drink from it."

Jack's head tilted, soaking his port-side dredlocks. "Another Borgia scheme?"

"No. This time it's a historically anonymous individual, with a personal grudge and no sense of proportion. I'm reliably informed this'll be a particularly unpropitious moment for Anglo-Italian relations to sour..."

He was interrupted as Royal jumped to his feet, tail in motion. Jack grabbed the trunks from the jacuzzi edge and yanked them on. "Welcome home!" Norrington called, as the back door opened again.

Royal started to bound across the deck, but suddenly froze. That dog had uncanny ability to perceive his owners' moods from a distance- James assumed it was the Fountain's influence.

The two men cut eyes. "Forewarned is forearmed," Jack muttered.

Meredith and Lysander appeared, both still in gees with their hair fastened up. Norrington eyed them closely. There was a thunderous expression on his daughter's face... and something else.

"Is that a black eye?"

"Only half a one!" the girl corrected snappishly.

"Lysee, don't be rude," her mother warned. "It's nothing serious, just a minor sparring mishap. Honey, you'll feel much better after a soak."

"I don't want to!" Lysander stomped back into the house. Mare looked after her with annoyance. Royal returned to his shady spot, settling with a doggy sigh.

"What exactly happened?" Norrington inquired.

Mare was shrugging out of her sweaty tunic. "She didn't spin quite fast enough. It was just a glancing blow, but you know how she overreacts to things." Everybody also knew that when Lysander was in a sulky mood it was best to just wait for her to get over it.

Mare stripped down to green sports bra and high-leg cotton briefs- a perfectly serviceable bikini. As she pulled off her hair scrunchie she flashed James a sly grin- she'd recently let her mane grow to waist-length, and knew he liked seeing it tumble down. (The couple were well-practiced at ignoring Jack's reactions.)

Norrington slid over as she climbed onto the spa, her pleased vocalizations as loud as Sparrow's. "They really should install one of these at the dojo!"

_/ Mattingly can wait. /_ James stowed the book on a windowsill, leaning to rest his head alongside Mare's.

Sparrow glanced in the direction of the villa door. "A bit of concealer would probably hide that splotch."

"I don't think that's the real problem. She's more embarrassed about the mistake than the bruise," Mare sighed. "That kid has to stop expecting she'll be great at everything on the first try."

"Aye. Everybody takes some knocks practicing martial arts. It's an intrinsic component of the learning process." Jack ran a hand over his close-trimmed beard. "Perhaps it'll help if I tell her about my first jujutsu session with Lady Hiroko. That wench didn't outweigh me by an ounce, but had no trouble at all tossin' me across the chamber."

Norrington regarded Jack piercingly. "That could be helpful, if it's a true anecdote."

"'Course it's true. Am I in the habit of inventin' yarns of the self-denigrating sort?"

"That's not your usual style," James conceded.

Jack wiggled against a water jet. "You might recollect my mentioning, 'twas the aforementioned Lady who taught me how ta deliver a hard kick from a prone position. Quite useful that proved ta be!"

"I do remember that. It helped us escape our cell in the Heb..."

Mare cut in. "I'd like to hear more about this Lady Hiroko."

Jack grinned good-naturedly, fingers fluttering amongst the foam as he talked. "I was under her tutelage from 1946 to 1950. As previously related, I'd waited out World War II in Cowra, Australia. There I made the unexpected acquaintanceship of a verra young Japanese POW- one Private Ozuru- who'd participated in the prison-camp breakout. That was definitely a case of 'out of the frying pan into the fire'; the Outback's a singularly inhospitable place ta land in. I assisted in recapturing that lad before he'd died of thirst. Afterwards I took ta paying him visits in his incarceration. We got ta be, if not quite friends, at least fond acquaintances.

"When the war ended an' Ozuru was repatriated, I volunteered ta escort him home. The whelp hailed from one of the northern provinces; a region relatively untouched by the bombings. He told me about some his family there, including his venerated Great Aunt Hiroko. She was a master of Kenjutsu- classic Samurai swordsmanship. The Lady taught at a temple dojo on an isolated Northern islet. She could speak fluent English, an' was willin' ta take occidentals as students if they displayed the proper attitude. I'd a long-held ambition ta someday learn usage of a katana- that's the one-bladed sword favored by the Samurai- so this was like gettin' an omen. Ozuru kindly wrote a letter of introduction fer me, which I hand-delivered to that islet. After a bit of wrangling I got a personal audience with the Lady, squatting across from her on the dojo porch.

"Hiroko was a most striking wench. No great beauty- her visage clearly showed she was in her fifties- but when she moved 'twas like a feline on a stalk, all grace an' control. 'Had the most candid an' penetrating eyes I ever did meet, like a hawk's stare. It might be she possessed truth-sense similar to yer own, Mare. So 'twere fortuitous I had no cause to attempt any deception. I gave her a straightforward explanation fer my interest: I had a certain degree of expertise at European-style sword fighting, an' thought it'd be worth the effort ta learn the Eastern sort ez well.

"After hearing me out, that she-hawk laid it straight on the line fer me. Ms Hiroko had no patience with westerners who expected ta become sword masters in six months. Ta be accepted as her student, I'd have ta sign on fer four years minimum, all livin' expenses ta be paid upfront an' nonrefundable. I'd follow the same curriculum as any pupil who'd never touched a sword before; we'd start with a long stretch of written studies, followed by a longer period of work with bokken- wooden swords. I'd graduate ta metal only when she deemed me ready. Furthermore, throughout those four years I'd be required ta live the same lifestyle as the temple monks: strict vegetarian diet, alcohol intake limited to small rations of saki, no carnal relationships whatsoever. Least of all with herself, that bein' completely inappropriate to the sensei-student relationship."

"And you agreed to this?" James' brows had risen to incredulous heights.

"Extraordinary, isn't it?" Jack shook his head, like he could scarcely believe it himself. "If she'd made me this offer the day before, or the day after, I'd probably have turned her down flat. It jus' happened that, at that particular interval, 'twas weighing on me what an abundance of years I had to fill up. I figured I may as well expend some of 'em this way.

"So I signed on, paid up an' moved in. Can't deny, through that first half-year there were multiple occasions when I heartily regretted it! 'Twas a strictly regimented existence: risin' with the sun, reading, hard exercisin', downin' rice gruel, more reading and exercises, inta bed at sundown, repeat. If there'd been any readily available transport off that islet I'd of scarpered fer sure. But it kept happening that whenever I had the strongest inclinations ta go, theer was a long wait fer the next boat. And by the time it arrived I'd've decided to give it another week.

"At the end of six months I'd gotten acclimated to the new rhythm... to shunting every energy inta my training. Learned more patience than I'd of thought possible! Among other things: when Lady Hiroko finally decided I merited a metal blade she spent the first two weeks teaching me naught but how to unsheathe the thing."

"It does show, when you handle it," Meredith mentioned.

"I'd hope it would! Anyways, by then I'd realized it'd take a lot longer than four years to make me a Master, if I even had that potential. But I'd decided that weren't essential- it was accomplishment enough fer me ta learn the basics. I did manage that, eh?"

James and Mare nodded agreement. They'd both witnessed Jack's occasional katana practices on this deck. The very act of taking that sword in hand seemed to transform him into a different creature; disciplined, liquid, precise and lightening-fast. Moving with such oneness with his sword it was impossible to perceive any boundary between man and weapon.

Sparrow's head was tilted back, eyes veiled and distant. "I won't ever forget the close of my last day's training. When I performed the usual handing-over of my blade to the sensei she told me to keep it. 'Said the sword is the soul of the warrior- it chooses it's owner, as much as the other way around. An' she could tell from the way it moved in my grasp that this one had decided I was worthy." Jack smiled wistfully. "'Haven't known very many moments as gratifying than that 'un."

"Then I can understand why you value it so," Mare noted. She knew Jack kept that katana on his bedroom wall, hanging between his narwhal tusk and his treasured black-and-orange African weaving.

Sparrow compromised the mood as his mouth twisted into a smirk. "First thing I did after that was catch the first boat to Tokyo, where I soon made up fer two years of monasterial living. 'Found my way to California next, where made up fer the other two. I did maintain some correspondence with Lady Hiroko fer years afterwards... got the notification when she passed away in 1974." Jack performed respectful nod of the head. "She was one of the few people I'd seriously considered sharin' the Fountain with. Problem was, the woman had such a stoic attitude about death I doubt it would've made any great difference to..."

Royal eagerly sprang up again. Lysee reappeared, wearing her shiny purple bathing suit. The head-petting she bestowed on the dog was openly apologetic, her words to the adults slightly less so.

"I changed my mind."

"Still room fer you, lass. And theer's mocha frappes available." Jack jerked his noggin towards the little deck refrigerator. "Perhaps you'd be kind enough to fetch me a 'special' one?"

He referred to those bottles with a magic-markered 'R' on the cap, which he'd previously opened and spiked with rum. Sparrow didn't favor many milk-based beverages but got along with a properly fortified frappuccino.

The chit obligingly retrieved four bottles, distributing them among the jacuzzi occupants before climbing in next to Jack. Cold mocha frappes were one thing everybody in the household enjoyed (some others were sailing, P. G. Wodehouse, 'Yellow Submarine' and Beethoven's Ninth.) For some while they all sipped peaceful. Royal plunked himself down beside Lysee's part of the tub, resting his scruffy chin on the rim.

Having finished his bottle, Sparrow cocked his head to study Lysee's new bruise. "Y'know, chit, that's really not a bad look on you. Roguish! If you put a matching bit of liner under the other eye, you'd resemble a proper..."

James gave Sparrow's ankle a small underwater kick- he didn't want his daughter getting over-romanticized ideas about buccaneers.

"... a proper seafarer," Jack finished. Lysander seemed to find appeal in that notion.

As she leaned back to drain the last of her frappe, Mare noted the sky's darkening color. They'd soon have to go inside for dinner. "Anyone have any preferences for activities this evening?"

"Can we rent 'Ben Hur' again? The chariot race is really cool!"

The grownups exchanged knowing glances. Lysander enjoyed anything having to do with horses.

"That is a classic cinematic sequence. It holds up well even compared with CGI," commented Norrington.

"'Aye, everybody favors the chariot race. But the sea battle's a worthy spectacle too," Jack ventured.

"I'd think you'd find it disheartening when the pirates lose," James teased.

"The Romans get as bad as they give," Sparrow countered. "Anyway, 'tis those poor blokes in the rowing gallery ya feel for. That's a direful moment indeed, when they peer out ta see that ramming cruiser headed straight at 'em! Catastrophe bearing down, an' there's naught they can do but fight ta get out of theer chains."

Meredith was regarding him intently- a bit belatedly, Jack recalled whom he was speaking to. He dropped his eyes, hoping she'd also get that message.

She did. "My own favorite scene is the last one, when Judah comes home to find his family alive and well."

"Another memorable bit." James glanced between Mare and Jack. He sensed something had just passed between them but decided not to ask. When one's wife was an esper (or something comparable to it) one quickly learned not to pursue every little thing.

Sparrow sagged with mild relief. He sometimes wondered whether there'd ever come a time when he'd feel ready to tell his two best mates about that. He did know this wasn't the moment. Not within hearing of a whelpess!

Fortunately the whelpess already had her attention on other things. "After the movie can we go down to the beach? It's gonna be a three-quarter moon tonight." Royal barked as if to second the notion.

James glanced at the paperback on the windowsill. He really should spend part of this evening studying- Murphy expected him to be ready for the Mission by tomorrow. On the other hand, Renaissance Italy would certainly wait one more day. That was one of the advantages of time-travel.

He and Lysander Anne might have many years, even centuries, ahead of them, but only as fellow grown-ups. His one-and-only chance to share her childhood was here and now.

James nodded, smiling warmly. "Yes, gattina. I'd very much like to do that."

xxx

**FINIS**


	5. Chapter 5

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney._

_xxx  
_

_This chapter was written for lilfluffykitten, who placed the winning bid at the help_Haiti charity auction. In exchange for her donation, she requested a "high-spirited Sparrow and Norrington adventure." I hope this fills the bill!_

xxx

**August 26, 1934- the Pepper Street area of Pasadena, California**

James irritably reflected that it'd been a long time since he'd had such a workout on a Mission. And a supposedly Low-Hazard one at that. For the third time he wondered why on earth it had been deemed necessary to send two men on this job. For the third time, he answered himself. Jack possessed the essential throwing arm; himself, the physical presence to keep Sparrow unharassed in this less-than-sterling neighborhood. Not that either asset was helping them much now.

But no point wasting mental energy deciding which of them bore the greater blame for this mess. Sparrow had put those all-important eyeglasses into their lunchbox without telling him, but it was James who'd set the box down, just long enough for it to be swiped... by, of all things, a monkey! It wouldn't have seemed possible for that creature to haul around a black metal container nearly her own size, yet here she was, leading her landbound pursuers on an exasperating chase, leaping from tree to fence to roof top (all the buildings in this area were short, many little more than shacks.) The view when she jumped revealed her gender, the pale fur around the face identified her as a capuchin. An escaped pet, James assumed. One packing plenty of attitude.

There were abundant brick pieces on the ground, but neither man dared throw anything at their quarry- if she dropped that box from a height the contents could shatter. James and Jack kept rushing past baffled, amused or alarmed residents- taking walks, hauling laundry, playing in the streets- but most were too busy to want to get involved. The exceptions were turned away by Norrington's authoritarian bellow: "No need for concern- we'll take care of this!"

The Operatives, clad in workmen's clothes and caps, turned another fast corner as the beast bounded from a fence into an orange tree. Even this part of Pasadena sported numerous fruit-bearing trees, which made James wonder what the animal could possibly find so desirable about their lunchbox. The monkey finally paused on a high branch, panting noisily. Her pursuers, also breathing hard, positioned themselves below, ready to catch the container should it slip her grasp.

The capuchin sent down ferocious glare. Jack mirrored it. "How much time left, James?"

Norrington checked his modest-looking wristwatch. "Fifteen minutes." After which they'd have to abandon this chase- completing their Mission took precedence over retrieving their property. James fervently hoped it wouldn't come to that.

That purloined eyewear was actually their 'Net Key', disguised, as usual, as a breakable object. Shattering the lenses would reopen the Timenet to transport them home, but only if the Key was being held by the individual(s) whose DNA pattern it'd been coded to. In any other setting it would simply break. This precaution eliminated any possibility of unauthorized opening of the Net.

It also meant, accidental breakage of the Key would strand said individuals in their Mission era for at least a month- the minimum temporal-gap required before another Operative could be sent to fetch them. In the meanwhile, the stranded personnel would be obliged to remain as inactive as possible, least they trigger a history-changing event. James didn't care to imagine what it'd be like, trying to keep Jack on the 'straight and narrow' for that length of time.

Sparrow obviously found that prospect even less appealing. "Ya know, James, we're going about this the wrong way. What we need ta do is find someone to lend us a gun, so I can shoot the bloody...!" Jack piled on an excessive number of invectives.

Norrington cut in. "You know we're not supposed to kill anything while on Mission. Even animals!"

"It's not like it'll do the bugger any permanent harm!"

James frowned in perplexity. "How so?"

"It's complicated! Let's jus' say, I've previous acquaintanceship with that pestilential simian. An' not a fond one!"

Norrington gave Jack a piercing look. "How did you get to know a California monkey in the 1930s? You said you spent that decade in Chicago and Havana."

"'Tis a much older acquaintanceship 'en that. An' this hain't the best circumstance ta tell that tale!"

James could hardly argue.

The monkey suddenly jumped onto a telephone line, giving Jack a baleful screech as she did. She fled along the wire for half a block before leaping onto a fire escape landing, attached to a decrepit old tenant building. As her pursuers hurried over she started banging the lunchbox against the rusted railing, desperately trying to crack it open.

Jack was seizing a trash can to climb onto the fire escape, when James set a hand on his arm. "I'm 'having a thought'. This creature seems to hold you in greater animosity than myself. I may have better luck if I approach it alone."

Jack snorted. "Fine! The more distance I can keep from that pox-ridden primate, the better!" He knelt with cupped hands, offering James a leg up. Norrington hoisted himself onto the fire escape's lowest landing and started up the stairs, keeping to a moderate pace.

The capuchin watched his ascent suspiciously, but stayed put. As James' head came level with hers he halted, calmly meeting the snapping black eyes. If Jack's claim was true, this was no ordinary animal, so might possibly comprehend speech. James decided it was worth a try.

"Excuse me, but pounding that container is useless. Only a human hand can open the mechanism."

The monkey looked sulky, as though she'd reached the same conclusion. Her next glance was a hostile one, directed down at the ex-pirate. James nodded.

"I can understand your holding hold that rapscallion in low regard. I've felt the same way, in a previous life. But at the moment, he's actually engaged in an honorable endeavor." The monkey regarded James with encouraging alertness. Norrington waved a hand to take in the adjacent streets and structures, the bright sun only emphasizing their shabbiness. "It's possible for a courageous spirit to originate from even an environment like this, if it manages to avoid the early pitfalls. There's a thirteen year-old boy presently residing in this neighborhood who has potential for greatness. But this very afternoon, he'll have opportunity to be in the wrong place at the wrong time... to make a mistake which will send his life into a downward spiral. Jack, and myself, intend to assure he'll be somewhere else. And we do need that lunchbox."

As he spoke, Norrington reached slowly towards the container. The capuchin momentarily bared her teeth, but didn't interfere.

James grasped the handle, pulled the box to himself, swiftly twirled the tiny combination lock. When it opened he reached inside- to his great relief, his fingers confirmed the spectacles were intact, cushioned between the ham sandwiches.

The monkey shifted to peer in too, though her focus was on the red-green apple. That was probably that scent which had sparked the beast's interest. Norrington removed the apple and extended it to her- she took it at once. But instead of biting, she clutched the round fruit against herself, her facial expression almost grateful. "Well. Enjoy it." James closed the box and retreated down the fire escape.

"Is it still in one piece?" Sparrow demanded to know, as his partner dropped back to the sidewalk.

"Yes, thank the heavens." Norrington couldn't resist adding a moralistic remark. "There's a lesson to be learned here: you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar."

"If flies are what you want." Jack sent the monkey another scornful look. She ignored it, as did James.

The men commenced retracing their course. Norrington checked his watch again. "It was very wise to leave a margin for error. We still have time to get into position." As they turned a corner, Jack gave the monkey a last backward glance. The beastie was still perched on the landing, hugging the apple like a precious relic. Sparrow's mouth twitched- for just a second, James thought he detected a trace of sympathy there.

Norrington rummaged through the lunchbox as they walked, extracting the wire-rimmed spectacles and handing them to Jack. "I strongly advise you to put these on and keep them on. Stealing a meal is not a temptation limited to animals." Jack sniffed, but slid the glasses onto his nose. "You know, those really don't look bad on you- give you a scholarly air."

"Which is hardly the first impression I want to make on the lasses," Jack countered.

"That shouldn't be of any concern, love affairs being strictly forbidden during Missions."

"'Tis jus' considerate ta brighten theer day with a bit of viewing pleasure." Jack flashed a self-satisfied little smirk. James, who knew better than to get him started on that subject, didn't respond.

A babble of boyish voices announced they were nearing their goal; a vacant lot between two tenants, separated from the street by a high wire fence and trash-filled ditch. Children from this neighborhood were discouraged from making use of any city parks, so they played their baseball games in whatever empty spaces they could find. Both Operatives watched for a minute, smiling as one of the lean youngsters dove onto second base- an old barrel lid- to great acclaim. The kids' noisy enthusiasm obviously compensated for the third-rate field, improvised equipment and nonexistent uniforms.

James and Jack settled onto a splintery streetside bench and opened the lunchbox. There was nothing remotely unusual about two day laborers taking a meal on a public bench. Norrington chewed his sandwich quietly, his ears carefully attuned to every sound from the lot.

The loud smack of wood on leather, and a chorus of excited shouts, brought both men's heads up. A gray streak flew over fence and ditch, struck the sidewalk and continued onto the roadway. Reaching the far curb, the ball bounced back and rolled to a stop, right into path of a clanking black automobile.

Norrington sprang into the road. The irate driver honked, but made no move to swerve. James snatched up the grimy sphere and darted back to the sidewalk with perhaps a meter to spare.

Jack gave him a standing ovation, spectacles glinting. "Great save, Mr. Norrington! You'd make a fair player yerself!"

"I'm not really a fan." James eyed the ball. It was well past it's prime- scruffed all over, dark with ground-in dirt, but still usable. And undoubtedly the only one these kids possessed.

Both men looked to the wire fence. A skinny outfielder, perhaps ten years old, was staring back at them. Norrington almost flinched at the boy's expression of acute disappointment. This child had probably never received consideration from any white man, and didn't expect to get it now.

The ex-commodore handed the ball to his partner. "Just toss- don't tease."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Jack replied seriously. Having also grown up in disadvantaged circumstances, the ex-pirate could identify with the boy better than most.

Sparrow drew his arm back and threw, as straight and true as he'd once hurled a coconut at a sea monster's head. The skinny kid hastily backpedaled, catching the ball in his mitt (actually a soiled work glove.) He gave Jack a gap-toothed grin, yelling "Thanks, Mister!" over his shoulder, as he raced to rejoin his playmates.

The opposing team, seeing their ball had been recovered, piled even heartier congrats on the member who'd just hit a home run. This game would continue until late afternoon- that talented hitter would be playing until dinnertime. Not hanging out with his ersatz street gang, who were all going be arrested this evening for attempting to burglarize a candy store. With a clean record, he'd be admitted to Pasadena Junior College, where he'd hone his athletic skills. Thirteen years from now, he'd accomplish something even a non-baseball fan could appreciate.

Norrington directed a subtle salute towards the players. "That concludes our part in the Jackie Robinson story. Let's head back to the grove." They returned the lunch remnants to the box and started walking west. It would be easier to flag down a cab in the Rose Bowl neighborhood.

Jack turned a familiar wheedling face on his partner. James sighed within.

"What did you want to see before we head home, Sparrow?"

"As we're in the general vicinity, I thought we might slip over ta Laguna Beach ta take a gander at the filmin' theer."

"What are they filming?"

"None other than 'Captain Blood'- one of me favorite early flicks! Errol Flynn's a classic cinema pirate- but I could teach him a thing er two!"

James, envisioning what hijinks Jack could get up to on that set, sternly shook his head. "Let's skip the sightseeing this time. I've had enough monkeyshines for one day."

xxx

**FINIS**


	6. Chapter 6

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney._

_xxx  
_

In a previous life, midshipman James Norrington had once witnessed a Naval captain (not his own, thank God) checking out the fitness of a newly impressed crewman. At the time he'd found the spectacle repulsive, but now he was glad he had that example to imitate.

Norrington disdainfully brushed the sleeve of his gaudily trimmed green coat- the usual finery of a merchant ship captain- as he studied the figure tied to the base of the support beam. Noted the damaged clothing, the dirty rag tied over the mouth, the familiar dark-chocolate eyes glaring defiantly back at him. James gave that defiance no more acknowledgment that the stench assaulting his nose. This decrepit shed must've previously been used as a fish-gutting station.

"I was expecting something larger. Where'd you hook this one- a bait pond?"

The disreputable individual to his left, clad in a much harder-worn topcoat, gave him a gap-toothed smirk. "Bulk hain't all what figgers in a deckhand's value. Jus' take a closer gander at 'im."

"Very well." James sounded like he was consenting to do his 'host' a favor.

Two of the subordinate thugs bent to remove the cord fastening the prisoner to the post, then hauled him to his feet. James inspected the merchandise with a critical eye, peering into the irises for casts, checking the scalp for lice. Next he examined the musculature, poking the torso, back and shoulders, then grasping the bound arms to determine their circumference. His lip curled scornfully.

"Skinny. Any brisk gust will blow him off the deck."

"Not likely, Cap'in. This 'uns lean, but 'e's strong. Took all three of me lads ta rope 'im- hain't that so?" The three sullen underlings grunted confirmation. One pointed out his own blackened eye, another touched his bruised jaw.

"So he's insubordinate."

"Jus' 'cause he's fresh-caught. A few stripes'll cure 'im. 'Kin see fer yerself, hits been a while since he's needed any." The captive was turned around, his linen shirt ripped further to uncover the faded lash marks. James gave them a perfunctory look, snorting noncommittally. As Jack was spun forward again, Norrington seized the fine jaw, frowning. "How am I supposed to check the condition of his teeth through that cloth?"

"Hits necessary ta spare us bein' deafened from all 'is jawin'." The minions nodded again. "A right chatterbox he is, but cat'll fix that too."

"Aye- cat's a remedy fer all that ails!" gloated the bruised thug. All four members of the press gang laughed.

Norrington released the prisoner's head and stepped back, eyeing the length of him in a dismissive manner. "The asking price better not be high for such a small one."

"Thing is, Cap'in, bein' o' manageable size hain't disadventacious fer certain usages." Sparrow's eyes widened for an instant. James manufactured the contemptuous glance of a man who knows his opponent is bluffing.

"I'll give you four guineas."

"Twelve."

"Four and halfpence."

"Couldn't consider less 'en eleven. Got ta make up expenses."

"Five."

The press gang leader stroked an unwashed finger down Jack's cheek, leering as the captive flinched. "Mate, theer's establishments in this verra port that'll pay twice ez much fer a bloke comely ez this'un."

James controlled his distaste. "Seven. I'll even add an eighth, just to be done with it."

"Ten, gent. What the market'll bear."

"All right, nine. And not a farthing more!" Norrington knew he was taking a risk, agreeing to such an exorbitant price for a mere tar. The seller might deduce his customer had personal concern for the captive, and keep the price beyond his capacity to pay. James would very much prefer not to conclude this bargaining with a drawing of weaponry- that always involved a possibility of somebody being killed before their time. Instead, the ex-Commodore yanked all nine coins from his pocket and flashed them in front of the leader's discolored nose. Gambling that, upon viewing the actual money, this bastard's cupidity would override his strategic sense.

"I have other duties to attend to- I've no more time to waste here! Will you accept my bid or not?"

For a tense moment, the seller regarded the bright discs with suspicion. Then he took one, giving the edge a careful nip. His thick lips curved with greedy satisfaction as he gathered up the rest. "Done!"

The 'lads', their eyes already fixed on the gold, pushed Jack towards his buyer. James grasped the prisoner's arm as firmly as he'd once done on a Port Royal dock. Sparrow squirmed to mimic protest.

"Will ya be needin' any assistance deliverin' the merchandise?"

"No thank you. I can certainly handle _this_ pathetic specimen." Norrington haughtily turned towards the shed's farther end, tugging his purchase along.

As they passed through the door the press gang leader called, "Pleasure doin' business with ya, Cap'in- come back anytime!" Norrington didn't bother responding. He just wanted to get Jack away from this pestilential hole as quickly as possible.

Once clear of the odious shed, the two hurried down the sagging pier and past the other abandoned docks, to the marginally less-decayed section of the waterfront. James spared a glance to check the coils encircling Sparrow's wrists- the surrounding skin was pinkish, but not bleeding or overly pinched. He could leave them there a while longer.

Jack made a demanding noise behind the splotched gag, accompanied by a sharp head shake. "Not until we're clear of this area," Norrington growled. Seeing the cold anger in those green eyes, the ex-pirate quieted.

As they rounded a derelict frigate, Norrington peered intently ahead- to his relief, that weathered hackney carriage was parked where he'd left it. The stout driver turned his head as they approached, his wide face a portrait of indifference. It was that very trait which had prompted James to chose this cab in the first place.

Norrington flung the door open and pushed Sparrow inside. "North, to the town limits!" he barked before following. The dullard obediently cracked a whip over his horse's rawboned rump, and they were off.

Sparrow slid over on the less-than-luxuriantly-padded bench, eyeing James imploringly as the latter settled beside him. Norrington regarded him sternly as he reached to the back of Sparrow's head and undid the knot. Jack spat the loosened cloth from his mouth, working his jaw. "That's appreciated." He shrugged his still-bound arms. "It'd be even more appreciated if you'd..."

"Later."

The dark eyes sparked annoyance. "This is unbecomingly vindictive of you, cousin."

"But entirely justified, if it teaches you to be more resistant of temptation while on Missions."

"That weren't how it happened! I thought that pox-ridden git might be our contact!"

"You thought our contact would be offering to exchange a drink for a yarn, prior to confirming who he was."

Jack shifted from a discomfort other than the rope. "In retrospect, it might've been a good idea to establish his ID before acceptin' his offer."

"It might have!"

"Mr. Norrington, I'd much prefer you didn't raise yer voice. That mickey's left a fierce headache."

"You're damned lucky that's the worst result. Do you realize what a disaster this almost was- what could've happened if another 'customer' had arrived before I managed to track you down? I'd of been in no position to pursue you out to sea! We both know what abuses impressed sailors are subjected to in this era- do you imagine it would've been a matter of indifference if I'd had to abandon you here?"

Jack closed his mouth, his resentment fading entirely. "Well... it didn't happen."

"Only because I located our real contact and completed the transaction on schedule- I could just as easily have been delayed! Or, once I started looking for you, it might have taken longer to find the correct tavern. You can guess how I felt when I shouted out your description and a dozen people averted their eyes. That told me something had befallen you there, but none of these lowlife witnesses were inclined to tell me about it. And I didn't have many options for making anybody speak!"

"'Tis evident you managed," Sparrow noted humbly.

"Again, that was largely luck. I happened to chose the right individuals to ply with bribes, or carefully phrased threats. If I'd had to resort to anything more drastic..."

"Seems you didn't. Not even with them as deserved it." Jack's tone was frankly admiring.

James thawed a bit. "Murphy's still not going to be happy about this. We're responsible for putting gold into several pockets that wouldn't otherwise have it, which means items might be purchased that should have gone to others. In the case of that press gang, this incident could delay their next hunt to the point that different people will be affected. Heaven knows what repercussions that could have over the years."

"Odds are 'twill only be a twang."

"We can only hope. We can also forget about any bonuses for this Mission."

"Do ya really think we need ta report this?" The navyman bestowed That Look. Jack blew against his mustache, letting his gaze stray to the passing array of whitewashed buildings. "I suppose we do."

The carriage hit a rut and lurched- Sparrow barely managed to avoid being thrown to the floor. He turned another pleading look on his companion. "Surely you kin turn me loose now."

James' tone was still ice-hard. "First, you need to make me a promise. You've got to be a lot more restrained about these meanders from the assigned Mission. No matter what enjoyable prospects they present."

"I promise, Commodore." Jack bent forward, raising his fettered wrists.

Norrington got to work unfastening the rope. "I hope you mean it," he grumbled. "We're not going to be this fortunate every time. I don't want to think about what Mare would say, if I ever came home without you."

The last loop came free. Jack sat up again, tenderly fingering his abraded skin. James dismissed an irrational twinge of guilt. Sore wrists, plus a forfeited bonus, were a very small price to pay. For a few minutes the men remained silent. The passing landscape was now dotted with modest gray homes, set in ever larger plots as they entered the farmed areas.

"So, you did retrieve our objective?" Jack asked.

"With considerably less difficulty than was required to retrieve you."

"Would it be permissible fer me ta see it?"

James reached to a hidden pocket under his shirt, pulling forth a bronze-colored object. Jack took it, examining closely. It was a cigarette lighter, of a style popular in the 1950s. Not valuable, but premature discovery of it's mechanism would've added a few major fires to the historical record. "Rather a small thing, ta require all this effort."

"Small things can be the most troublesome." With a grudging smile, James added, "Though sometimes they're worth it."

Jack pouted a moment before returning the smile, slower and warmer than his usual flashing grin.

The carriage lurched to a stop. "Town limit!"

Norrington stirred uneasily. "We may have to bolt, Jack. I've spent everything I had."

"My treat this time." Sparrow deftly pulled off one battered shoe and extracted a coin from the lining.

The two men got out. As expected, the slack-faced driver made nothing of the 'prisoner' now being free. Nor of said prisoner being the one who handed him his fee. He just accepted it with a nod, and set about turning his horse. As the hack clopped away, Jack and James began the short hike along the barley field to their pickup spot. Sparrow practically skipped along, his ordeal already a distant concern.

"Ya know, you jus' got a real bargain, cousin. In our natural time the price on me head was ten thousand an' one guineas."

"I remember. But you still owe me for the nine. You can repay it by keeping out of trouble... at least as much as you're able to. Breaking in a new Mission partner would be a huge nuisance."

Sparrow gave him a sunny grin. "I'd feel the same. Can't think of any bloke I'd rather have watchin' me back than yerself, Mr. Norrington."

There was no rational cause at all, James considered, for him to respond by tugging one of Jack's tangled dredlocks back into place, whilst muttering "Scamp."

But he did it anyway.

xxx

**FINIS**


End file.
